


creatures of the night

by honeycombkiss



Series: waited just to love you [4]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Good Friend, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Rated T for Trashmouth, aged up characters (15/16 years old), canon typical darkness and dealing with the trauma that follows, past trauma, post It (2017), pumpkin patch and carving, sophomore year of high school, though no one moves away or forgets because that is bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-14 23:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21244124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeycombkiss/pseuds/honeycombkiss
Summary: October was hard. Eddie actually hated it. Every year it was the same terror around every corner. Eddie was positive that unlike any normal town, Derry’s obsession with clowns was unique. It was as if the lingering magic of It’s reign of terror still mystified Derry. Eddie wasn’t even sure that fear was an appropriate word. This was a terror; it was every single memory of that summer flooding to the surface. The house, the sewers, the television programs, the long nights where he lay awake unable to sleep. It was the following weeks, where sharp laughter was daunting. And Stan didn’t leave his house. And Richie’s jokes fell flat, and Eddie didn’t walk anywhere alone./Or: Halloween of 1991 is just as the year before; frightening in every wrong way. Follow the Losers Club through dealing with trauma and a happy tradition or two.





	creatures of the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sourcoral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourcoral/gifts).

> This story takes place in their sophomore year of high school, making it October of 1991. This story was written third, though appears first as of today in the ‘waited just to love you’ timeline. It is not essential that you read any of the others, though I’d love it if you did!
> 
> This story is honor of Halloween and all things spooky! I love a good, festive story. It is also a birthday gift to my sister!!!!!! I love you B, and my love language has always been fanfiction. I know you love canon typical theming, hence the very heavy and sad plot. Also, as Bill is possibly your favorite character, I tried to give him a couple good scenes. I hope you love this as much as I loved writing it for you. You are forever my favorite. Also, as a psych major I love delving into the mind and the effects of trauma on characters.

The darkness of Eddie’s bedroom was suffocating. Branches on the tree that stood tall outside his window scratched against his window, casting shadows against the far wall. Eddie’s eyes were clamped shut, though, his focus on counting sheep as the jumped over and rolled under the fence in his mind. It wasn’t working; it usually didn’t.

Eddie wished, sometimes, that his memory wasn’t as good as it was. Sure, it was convenient to remember birthdays or other important days in history. And when he had been on a strict medication schedule, his accurate memory was essential. He liked remembering Richie’s class schedule. And the exact radio stations that played his favorite songs. But not all of Eddie’s memories were ones he wanted to cling to.

October was hard. Eddie actually _hated_ it. Every year it was the same terror around every corner. Eddie was positive that unlike any normal town, Derry’s obsession with clowns was unique. It was as if the lingering magic of It’s reign of terror still mystified Derry. Eddie wasn’t even sure that _fear_ was an appropriate word. This was a _terror_; it was every single memory of that summer flooding to the surface. The house, the sewers, the television programs, the long nights where he lay awake unable to sleep. It was the following weeks, where sharp laughter was daunting. And Stan didn’t leave his house. And Richie’s jokes fell flat, and Eddie didn’t walk anywhere alone.

And it wasn’t _just_ clowns either. Halloween decorations fucking sucked all around. Just the sight of cobwebs, and Eddie could fucking _taste_ Neibolt house. Horror movies were out of the question. Classmates loved jump scares, and monster masks. Stan didn’t even attend school the week leading up to Halloween.

Eddie wished, often, that he was braver. He wished he had the courage to brush it off his shoulders, as it appeared that some did. He wished that creaking staircases, thunderstorms, and storm drains didn’t leave him gasping for breath.

It didn’t matter how many years it had been. Sometimes he could still _hear_ his arm breaking. That moment of shock that flooded in before the pain. Or the sound of Stan’s horrified crying, tears already pooling down Eddie’s cheeks. When he closed his eyelids, he could picture Beverly’s seemingly lifeless form floating above the ground. He could hear the grey water sloshing around their ankles as they stumbled through the sewer system. Sometimes Eddie could _feel_ the terror that overcame him when It had wrapped its arms around Bill, the rest of that moment looping through his mind; Richie’s distressed voice, feet scuffing as he paced back and forth, long arm reaching for the baseball bat. (The baseball bat that had belonged to someone who was gone now. And Eddie really fucking tried not to think about that.)

The wind whistled loudly outside, and Eddie pulled his blanket up to his chin, hoping to hide in the comfort of his bed. _There wasn’t anything in the darkness_, Eddie whispered to himself again and again until he finally fell asleep.

X

October twenty-ninth found Eddie and Bill walking their bikes side-by-side to the Denbrough’s after school. Bill’s comic subscription had come in the day before, and Eddie was dying to see his newest additions. He’d get first dibs, and that was something he could never turn down.

The sky above them was cast in thick, angry, grey clouds; threatening to open up at any moment. It was daunting, so Eddie focused on telling his story about the dream he’d had the night before. Bill loved hearing dream stories, trying to interpret everything along the way.

“W-wait,” Bill stopped him for what had to be the twentieth time. “Wh-what c-color was the c-carpet?”

“It was like a pale yellow,” Eddie recounted after a moment of contemplation. “I think.”

Bill looked thoughtful, considering the newest piece of information. Bill had a huge book of symbolism, and he was slowly working his way through it. Most recently he’d read a chapter on colors.

“I th-th-think that m-means illness,” Bill told him seriously. “D-didn’t you say th-the lights were off?”

And so Eddie recalled the last minute or so of the dream again. Bill cut him off at least five more times before the Denbrough home was in sight. Eddie felt more confused than anything, grateful that Bill’s interpreting would soon be over. Often, it all sounded like a bunch of nonsense to Eddie. Bill was excited, though, so Eddie tried to keep his emotions from crossing his features.

The boys stashed their bikes in the garage before slinking through the house and thundering up the rickety staircase. Mrs. Denbrough didn’t look up from her piano, which Eddie always found incredibly creepy. _Before_ (as Eddie referred to the very different world that existed up until that October of 1988) Mrs. Denbrough had always enjoyed her musical hobbies, but it was just _different_ now. If it wasn’t the piano, it was her violin—plucking and stroking strings until Eddie could hear it in his sleep. And if not the violin, the dreaded flute. She rarely talked to the Losers. Bill had once said that she mostly kept to herself, breaking into fits of tears or long periods of silence.

At the top of the stairs, Eddie followed Bill into his bedroom. The lights were off across the whole upstairs, leaving every corner dark. Bill scowled, closing his bedroom door behind them and stuffing a blanket up against the slit between the wooden floor and door. As if he could block out the rest of the house.

“Th-that f-f-fucking song,” Bill grumbled, kicking his shoes towards his open closet, knocking a shirt off its hanger with the force of it.

Eddie didn’t know what to say, instead focusing on shedding his outer layers and placing them gingerly on Bill’s desk chair. Bill busied himself with flicking on the lamp on his bedside table, opening the blinds and grabbing his new stack of comic books. He flopped onto his bed, and Eddie followed his lead. Eddie was incredibly grateful that being on the verge of sixteen didn’t make them too old to enjoy their childhood favorites.

Bill introduced each new comic, before handing it to Eddie for inspection.

But the loud crack of thunder was too much, causing the pair to both jump. The sounds of rainfall soon joined, creating a cacophony. Eddie held his breath. The overwhelming surge of _fear_ licked his skin, lighting his body on fire. Bill flung his head back with a loud groan, hitting against the headboard. Eddie didn’t know what to say. Bill looked so pitiful, his eyes misty and his lip wavering.

Eddie watched Bill’s face for any sign of what to say or do. Bill’s body gave nothing away, as he tensed his muscles and clamped his eyes shut.

Neither said anything for a long moment. Eddie glanced back down at the comic book, mindlessly reading the words on the page.

He wanted to grab Bill’s hand in his own and ask, _How can I help you?_ And he wanted to use his childhood nickname—_Billy_—but he knew it would only make things worse.

“Halloween was G-g-g-georgie’s favorite,” Bill finally spoke with a sad shrug, as if Eddie could ever forget.

(Eddie remembered Georgie’s cowboy costume—the little boots that still sat in his deserted closet. There was the hat made of straw, and the five-point star badge that he pinned to his red button-down shirt. His little jeans bunched at the ankles, and his toy gun hung from the holster Mrs. Denbrough had made him. Georgie had talked about Halloween for weeks; bragging about the pillowcase he planned to fill up, promising to sneak Eddie a Twix or two, whining that his mother would make him wear a turtleneck underneath his costume.

Eddie hadn’t been allowed to trick-or-treat growing up; but that October—

That October the four boys had promised Georgie they’d take him out.

Eddie wasn’t sure who had been looking forward to it most. Probably not Stan, but even Richie had been unable to deny Georgie, promising to wear a cowboy hat, too.)

Eddie fought back the feelings of uselessness that clawed at his chest. His mind felt like a whirlpool, centered around the pain they all shared. The pain that felt so harrowing. The pain that Bill couldn’t keep off his face.

“It was your favorite, too,” Eddie nodded, feeling guilty for saying it when Bill’s expression changed.

“I d-d-don’t w-want to t-t-talk about it,” Bill grumbled, his stuttering intensifying in his distress. He aggressively wiped at the tears that had made trails down his cheeks.

“Okay,” Eddie nodded again, now feeling completely useless. What was there to say to his best friend?

He looked back down at the comic in his lap. He couldn’t remember where he’d stopped reading, eyes roaming the page to become acquainted once more. But he couldn’t focus. Because it was raining, thick sheets pitter-pattering against Bill’s windowpane. And Mrs. Denbrough continued to play that fucking piano, and Bill’s shoulders were hunched up to his chin. And Georgie’s room was empty down the hall. And the neighbors across the street had a scarecrow with a clown’s mask and face paint standing spookily in their front garden. And so forgetting was impossible.

And oh how relentless trauma was. There were so many times that the Losers sat in a circle, before having to scoot around until the shape no longer resembled the one they’d made with blood trickling between their fingertips. How Eddie’s palm felt sticky and warm in those moments. How just the memory of it was enough to raise his heartbeat, lungs choking on what little air he could manage to gasp.

And it was in that moment that Eddie fought off every thought he didn’t know what to do with, and instead rested his head against Bill’s shoulder. It only took a moment for Bill to rest his head atop Eddie’s, his breathing evening out. It wasn’t enough—how could it ever be—but it was _something_.

X

October thirtieth meant the trip they’d planned to Mike’s family farm. The place was crowded with citizens from Derry and other neighboring towns. The farm promised hayrides through corn fields, a petting zoo, a produce stand and of course a pumpkin patch. Currently, Eddie stood beside Richie, trying to wiggle his toes through the layers he’d bundled himself up into. He hadn’t even been able to tie his shoes, the three layers of socks making it difficult. And so he had to watch every step to insure he didn’t trip on the hanging laces. He’d even considered asking Richie to help watch out, as it was a very stressful situation. He’d had to tuck the loose ends into his sneakers on the bike over.

Eddie and Richie had biked to Mike’s farm with Ben. Ben had excitedly told them about his cinnamon rolls he wanted to bake for Halloween. Ben had just gotten into baking, and it was great. Eddie loved being a taste tester, being the first person that Ben had confided his new talent in.

They met the other Losers at the patch. As they left school that afternoon, they’d discussed the logistics of it all. Everyone had been hesitant to even _go_, but at Mike’s insistence they’d all agreed. They’d been to Mike’s farm enough times to know it would be safe enough.

It had been Eddie’s idea to all bike together, but Stan had opted to ride on the back of Silver, promising to bike with Bill on back on the ride home. Stan hadn’t been at school, so Eddie had found out over the phone just minutes before he left. Eddie hoped the ride would be good for Bill, too; to be needed and useful, capable of helping those he loved.

If this time of year was hard for Eddie, it was excruciating for Bill. And Stan. But also Richie, who too often took on the emotions of others. And Eddie had to cut himself off there, afraid of his mind wandering any further.

“You excited, Eddie Spaghetti?” Richie asked as they wandered towards the tractor pulled hayride. The corn fields weren’t too far away, ears waving in the wind.

“Totally,” Eddie asked, wincing at the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

“You don’t look very thrilled,” Richie grabbed Eddie’s elbow, pulling him aside. Eddie could see the concern in his eyes. Eddie didn’t really _want_ to answer.

“I’m having a good time,” Eddie said carefully, hoping Richie would drop it.

“You should tell your face that,” Richie teased, though his concern was still evident in his voice.

Eddie yanked his hat down over his ears and attempted a smile. “See?” he prompted Richie. “I’m fine.”

“Wow, I’m convinced now.” Richie gave him _a look_. Eddie attempted to smile larger, though it obviously fell flat.

“This is just _dumb_,” Eddie hissed, lowering his voice when he saw Bev shoot them a questioning look. “I’d rather just not do this at all.”

Richie looked empathetic, his face instantly going soft. It made something in Eddie’s chest pool with warmth.

“Let’s talk later,” Eddie found himself pleading, reaching over to squeeze Richie’s hand. Richie looked like he wanted to argue, but he stayed silent.

“Alright, ole chap,” Richie whistled in his British guy voice. Eddie rolled his eyes but smiled. It was an older voice, but its familiarity was comforting in an odd way.

“Cinnamon rolls or pumpkin pie for tomorrow night?” Ben asked as they sat bouncing around the cornfield, the sun setting in the distance. Eddie was snuggled as close to Richie’s body as he thought was normal and acceptable. (He had already rearranged himself twice; once because he could _feel_ the eyes of others around them, and then another time because he was _too_ far, probably looking like he had something to hide.) But he’d made up for the distance by tugging Beverly into his other side and resting his head against her shoulder.

“I don’t think I can eat pumpkin pie while I carve a pumpkin,” Mike offered his opinion, all the while sounding like he really wouldn’t mind either way. The boy was just too easy to please, Eddie thought.

“I agree,” Beverly nodded her head. “And your rolls are kind of to die for.” Ben blushed lightly, and Eddie fondly rolled his eyes.

As they continued to roll along, Richie cut the silence that had enveloped them. He had an obviously, humorously fake smile plastered to his face.

“Welcome everyone,” Richie’s voice was high pitched and a bit nasally. “I’ll be your tour guide aboard the Hanlon Express. I’d like to turn all of your attention to the light hand side. Believe it or not you’re going to find corn ears for as far as the eye can see! Please no flash photography, we wouldn’t want to startle the wildlife.”

Eddie laughed openly, smiling over at his boyfriend.

The rest of the evening passed in a similar way. The Losers clumped together, stealing body warmth and trading jokes. Richie kept them entertained, pretending to be a tour guide through the hayride and onto the patch.

Which was where Eddie’s patience began wearing thin. Eddie really wanted to avoid being rude, but he was tired of waiting around for the group to meander around the farm. The sun was setting, and Eddie wasn’t interested in biking across town in the darkness.

“We’ve picked our pumpkins,” Eddie grumbled. “Can we please leave now?” It took everything inside him to not tug at Richie’s shirt sleeve. He figured that was a step too far.

“Oh, baby,” Richie cooed, reaching over to pinch at Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie squirmed, though he didn’t pull away. “Gotta get you home and warm you up.”

“Yes, please,” Eddie nodded.

X

Later that night, as Eddie slipped on another pair of woolen socks, there was a soft rap on his bedroom window. Eddie smiled to himself, softly bounding over to it, sliding it open for Richie to gracelessly stumble inside.

“Let’s talk,” was the first thing that came from Richie’s mouth after he’d greeted Eddie with a cold, chapped-lip kiss.

Eddie groaned. “I kind of hoped you’d forget.”

“Not me, sonny,” Richie used his old man voice, and Eddie rolled his eyes fondly. “My memory is impeccable! Did I ever tell you about the time-”

“Okay, okay, I get,” Eddie flopped onto his bed, hoping Richie would follow him. Luckily, Richie seemed to have a sixth sense for detecting Eddie’s needs. He fell onto the bed beside him, tucking his head in the crook between Eddie’s shoulder and neck. His skin was chilled, no doubt from the trek through the neighborhood.

“I don’t hear any talking,” Richie prompted, though his lips were pressed against Eddie’s skin, so it sounded more like a foreign language than anything Eddie could understand.

Eddie didn’t answer. He chose to bid his time, thinking over everything. Because besides the obvious seasonal disruption to his usually pretty normal routine, there was a geography test on Friday and a snowstorm coming the following week. There was a lot he could talk about, all of which Richie would gladly listen to.

“Better start talking, sonny, or you’re going to be stuck with a story about my time at war.” Richie’s voices were comforting, a great distraction from everything he was currently avoiding.

Eddie just groaned, low and obnoxious.

“Out with it!” Richie whisper-shouted, weary of Eddie’s mother sleeping.

“Have you talked to Bill this week?” Eddie asked, pulling away from Richie so as to capture his gaze. Richie’s brown orbs were questioning, though kind; full of his customary warmth. Eddie often wondered how someone as spastic and energetic as Richie was also capable of great patience and kindness. He was like a fry dipped into a milkshake, or a sea salt milk chocolate bar—the best of both spectrums.

“Yeah,” Richie nodded. “Have you talked to Stan?”

It was Eddie’s turn to nod. They were on the same page, both thinking about the elephant that was a constant in every room, every situation. As _if _they could’ve run or hid from it.

“Well it’s all the fucking same and I hate it,” Eddie whined, looking away from Richie’s piercing eyes. “I wish I was braver, but,” he let his sentence trail off, unsure what he even wanted to say. “I wish it didn’t bother me anymore.”

“What are you talking about?!” Eddie could feel Richie’s gaze, though he only buried his face into his pillow.

Eddie whined. “Exactly what I said.”

“Look at me,” Richie murmured, though it kind of sounded like a question not a statement.

“Nope,” Eddie grumbled into the pillow.

“Come on!”

“Absolutely not!”

“Eds, you little turd,” he tugged at Eddie’s night shirt. Eddie relented, poking his head out. Richie looked amused, though it changed serious after a moment.

“This,” Richie grabbed at Eddies hand, holding it close between their chests. “_This_ is brave, Eds. Remember how fucking scared we were in the beginning?”

“Were?” Eddie laughs humorlessly. “I’m still fucking terrified half the time,”

“And yet,” Richie smiled softly. “You still want my hot bod all to yourself.” Eddie scoffed playfully.

“Maybe. But also,” Eddie added. “You really can’t say _in the beginning_ when we’ve been together like less than 6 months.”

“I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you,” Richie’s voice was suddenly serious, his fingers tracing up Eddie’s arm. “So I totally can.”

“I try to forget,” Eddie chocked out the words, hiding his face behind his hands now. The discomfort that came from vulnerability clawed at his throat. “But I just _can’t_,”

“Me neither,” Richie’s tracing continued. “I don’t know if there’s anything we can really do about that.”

“Well I hate it,”

“Me too, Eds, me too.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how long they lay there together, wrapped in their embrace. Words failed him. Was there a way to both cry about the nightmares and thank your boyfriend for his unrelenting humanity? Or a way to bridge the distance between the brightness of the future and the current unsettling presence?

Eddie fell asleep wondering if he’d ever be able to watch a horror movie. Or go out on Halloween night.

But it was paired with the contentment and safety that came from falling asleep wrapped up in Richie’s arms.

X

Eddie stood beside Richie, both facing the large mirror that hung on the back of Richie’s bedroom door. The house was empty besides the two of them, as Eddie had ridden home with Richie after school and Maggie and Went were at a friend’s costume party.

“I don’t know,” Eddie whined, though if Richie asked again, he knew he’d cave. The idea was kind of great, if Eddie had to admit it.

“Come on,” Richie tried again, putting on his best pouty face. “You’ll be the cutest little

“Alright, fine,” Eddie pretended to grumble, though Richie just laughed.

“Oh, _baby_,” Richie left a slobbery kiss against Eddie’s temple. “Now hold still, dahling, and let me work my magic!”

“Is that supposed to be, like, a Hollywood makeup artist?” Eddie asked, closing his eyes after turning to face Richie.

“Oh, dahling, it’s just little ole me, Deborah,” Richie prattled on in the odd voice, pretending to smack a piece of gum, something Eddie hadn’t thought was possible. “Dropped outta beauty school to raise the babies.” Eddie couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the story Richie was no doubt building as he spoke.

“Gotta pick up some odd jobs, though,” Richie continued talking, all the while fake gum smacking. “Since my mans hunting business isn’t workin’ out, which, like, I fuckin’ told ‘im.”

“Hunting business?” Eddie asked incredulously.

“Yes, dahling, wanna buy some elk meat?”

“Elk meat?” Eddie opened his eyes at that, laughter evident in his voice. “That sounds fucking _gross_.”

There was a knock on the front door, then, knocking Richie out of character as he cursed.

“Jumpy?” Eddie asked, feeling entirely empathetic.

“Guess so,” Richie shrugged, though Eddie could see the tension in his body language. The knock sounded again, though Richie continued to finish Eddie’s makeup. Eddie didn’t question it, wanting to still be in Richie’s personal space, be his focus of attention.

But by the third knock, this one much more aggressive, Richie flung open his bedroom door and bellowed, “Just a fucking second!”

“Rich-” Eddie started, though Richie cut him off with a pinky finger to the lips, his fingers still spreading makeup against Eddie’s face.

“Shh,” Richie commanded. “Don’t wanna ruin my fantabulous work.”

The pounding on the front door increased. Eddie felt Richie pull away from him.

“Fucking hell,” Richie cursed, running from the room. Eddie could hear his footstep descending the staircase, followed by the sound of the large front door lurching open. “Calm your tits, Jesus!” was Richie’s greeting.

“Wow what a welcome,” it was Beverly.

Eddie listened to the commotion from the front entrance, only moving enough to slip behind the door and peer into the mirror. The infamous black and white face paint of a KISS band member stared back at him. The black star over Eddie’s right eye wasn’t perfect, lines bumpy and diagonal. But Eddie had to admit it was kind of badass. The white facepaint was blotchy and itchy, so Eddie took several deep breaths to center himself.

“What do you think?!” Eddie jumped, Richie’s voice suddenly so close.

“Don’t sneak up, you asshole!” Eddie swatted at Richie, though he dodged it. He flung himself to the floor, grabbing for the makeup and swinging the bedroom door shut. “Who’s here?” Eddie asked, watching as Richie began smearing white facepaint against his already quite pale face.

“Beverly, Bill, Ben,” Richie recalled, sounding like the local Derry newscasters. “Mike and Stan are in route.”

Eddie nodded, lowering himself to the floor beside Richie, beginning to play with the frays on his jeans. Richie was the picture of concentration, eyebrows ruffling slightly before he reminded himself to relax in his best Gene Simmons impersonation. Eddie knew it wouldn’t be the last time he’d hear the voice that night. And while he wished it was a tad less raspy, he could deal with it. It was actually kind of perfect, seeing Richie in the makeup and attempting the rockstars voice.

By five-thirty, all the Losers had arrived. There was a pile of bikes against the side of the garage, and Mike’s old pick-up truck in the driveway; the one and only coveted vehicle in the Losers Club. It was an old pick-up truck that his grandfather bought with the sole purpose of not having to drive Mike to school every day. It was an ancient, rickety thing that shook when accelerated past 30 miles an hour. The brakes had to be pumped in order to actually stop effectively, but the Losers loved the piece of shit. It was their only quick mode of transportation. They relied on it frequently. And Halloween was no different—while the other Losers felt fine biking together to Richie’s, Stan refused to do so. Luckily for Stan, Mike picked him up in the Bonecrusher, as Richie so fondly called it.

Upon entering the Tozier home, Stan made Richie walk around the entire first floor with him. They flipped on every light switch and opened every closed door. Eddie knew it was kind of ridiculous, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate it. The Tozier’s had a large home, and the panicked part of Eddie’s mind told him anything could be lurking in any corner.

Ben had set up two large plates of homemade cinnamon rolls on the kitchen counter, and Eddie pulled out the large package of plastic cups the Toziers kept in the pantry. Maggie and Went had left money to order pizza, which was why Bill and Mike were huddled over the phone attempting to place an order.

Richie fiddled with the television, until he found the channel he’d been looking for. Without looking, Eddie knew it was the _Bewitched_ marathon that Richie had been looking forward to all week. (It’d been nearly adorable listening to Richie rattle on about the show, the characters, the magic. He threw his hands around a lot when he talked animatedly, all the while brushing his curls out of his eyes.)

“B-b-beverly and I p-picked up the candy,” Bill held up a plastic bag from Allen’s grocery. “F-for the t-t-t-trick-er t-t-” Bill stopped, as he often did, to take a deep breath before powering through the remainder of his sentence. “t-t-treaters.”

“And we totally didn’t eat any yet,” Beverly teased, making a bit of a show of pulling candy wrappers out of her jacket pocket and throwing them into the kitchen garbage can. Richie laughed as he grabbed a purple bowl for the candy.

“You know what they say,” Richie’s stupid Gene Simmons came from the living room. “Women are from mars.” The comment made no sense, though it did cause several head turns.

“I hope that’s a joke,” Beverly glared over at Richie, her hand stilling.

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Mike agreed.

“Shut up, dumbass,” Eddie cut in. He knew Richie meant nothing by the sentiment, it was just a quote he’d read in a magazine article. His research for his Halloween costume had included extensive magazine reading, trying to catch KISS on MTV, and practicing the horrible voice in front of the mirror. It had been a serious role to Richie. “It’s just a fucking quote,” Eddie addressed the others, jerking his thumb at Richie. “Just wait, he’s got a whole routine prepared.”

“Don’t give it away!” Richie glared, still in the horrendous voice. Eddie couldn’t bite back his smile—though he didn’t really want to anyway. He knew he was boyfriend was entertaining.

Luckily, the pizza was delivered in less than thirty minutes. They pooled spare change together to make up the tip and ate off paper towels. Their meal was completed with three liters of coca cola, and two orders of cheese sticks.

With greasy hands and cheesy smiles, the Losers gathered together in the kitchen; the table covered in a large, plastic tablecloth. Seven pumpkins sat atop, with an abundant collection of carving knives and Sharpie pens. Eddie stood between Richie and Mike, who had already begun tracing out his design. Eddie could already see the beginnings of a full moon and what must’ve been a howling werewolf.

“Let the contest, BEGIN!” Richie yelled, swinging his arm in an arcing motion. The Losers scrambled to grab their supplies and begin carving.

Eddie had thought over ideas all day in class. It had been between a cat and a bat all day, though he’d finally settled on a basic bat. Mostly because it was the only thing simple enough for his very robust skill set.

When the doorbell rang, they insisted on Ben greeting the trick-or-treaters; because he was good with kids, but mostly because it had been his insistence to pass out candy in the first place. (Though he claimed it had been Maggie’s request all along; Eddie didn’t buy it though.)

Eddie had just finished scraping out the sticky, gelatinous insides of his pumpkin when Stan screamed in mild horror. Eddie’s eyes snapping up to assess the situation. Stan was fixated on Ben with disgust and distrust.

“You okay?” Mike asked gently, glancing between Stan and Ben with the confusion Eddie felt, too.

“No!” Stan fretted, stepping away from the table. His pumpkin was still completely in tact, dark black sharpie marks barely visible on the side of the pumpkin facing away from Eddie. It sort of looked like a spider atop it’s web, but Eddie couldn’t be sure. “Ben’s pumpkin guts are splattering on me!”

“Stan, I’m sorry,” Ben’s eyes were full of concern. “I swear I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, Stan,” Beverly cut in from her place on Ben’s other side.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Stan said instead of answering, glancing down at his hands. There was repulsion written on his face.

“Here,” Eddie moved towards the kitchen sink. “You just need a wet paper towel, Stan, then you’ll feel better.” Stan didn’t argue, which was a good sign.

Eddie helped Stan wipe himself and his area down. Ben helped, too. He cleared his own pumpkin gutted area, scooping it far away from Stan’s area.

And so they continued on, slowly finishing one by one. Eddie’s barely distinguishable bat was finished first. Richie’s _LOVER_ was next, followed by Bev’s ghost.

Finally, Bill finished his skeleton. So they carried the seven pumpkins towards the front porch, finding an empty bowl of candy. The sign Bill had drawn was still there, _please take two_, though Eddie suspected no one paid it any attention. They lit the tea light candles inside, before racing back inside the warm home.

Eddie bit into a cinnamon roll, letting the sugar and cinnamon swirl together on his tongue. Richie looked ridiculous jumping on the couch to a KISS song Eddie had never even heard. Which wasn’t surprising, considering he wasn’t a huge rock and roll fan. Richie, though, strummed an electric air guitar and say at the top of his lungs.

Eddie wanted to memorize the way the leather vest hung off of Richie’s thin shoulders. His protruding collarbones stood out starkly, bits of white face paint collected just above them against the base of his neck. Richie was banging his head to the beat, his hair flopping and flailing around him. There was an air of magic surrounding him. His energy was contagious. It was electric and magnified and exciting.

Sitting the cinnamon roll on the countertop, Eddie bounded across the room. He collided with Richie as he scrambled to climb up onto the couch. He stumbled and nearly lost his balance, before Richie wrapped an arm around his waist.

“My Spaghetti Man!” Richie cheered, his voice probably forever stuck as Gene Simmons. “Perform with me!”

Eddie didn’t argue, just joined Richie in performing to his invisible audience.

Maybe having a great memory wouldn’t be all bad, Eddie told himself. Because he knew he’d remember for years the look of pure elation that crossed Richie’s features when Eddie joined in on screaming to lyrics he didn’t even know.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please take thirty seconds to leave me a lovely little review and let me know what you thought. It would mean the world to me! The perfect Halloween gift!!


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